Mirror of Remorse
by J CAE
Summary: Sequel to "Dawn Can Wait". Check the date this was written before telling me it differs from canon-it's b4 the release of TFT, all right? This is a fanfic, NOT a rewrite.
1. Prince

Mirror of Remorse By J. CA  
  
He was a mirror.  
  
The way ahead of him was only a reflection.  
  
But he wanted to see beyond the glass.  
  
He chose to venture on another way. He chose freedom.  
PRINCE  
  
There he was, all clad in brown, treading through the brick red soil of the Barrens. He never stopped to take a break. The afternoon sun was high in the air yet he wrapped a cloak tightly about himself to hide his face. He walked like he was of the graceful Elven kin, yet he hid a great secret.  
  
Merely seventeen years of age, he was tall, slender, and dark- skinned. Two sinister teeth stuck out from his jaw--the only evidence of his Orcish blood. His name was Ardomael, son of Thrall the Orc Warchief.  
  
His name was Elvish, and it meant 'bright mirror'.  
  
He ran away from home, away from his father, from his tribesmen and from the accusing offences of the elders. He could not bear those who still thought his mother was no more than a prostitute after she had contributed so much to the Orcs. True, his mother, Jadece Lightwind, was a Night Elf, radically different by blood and in culture. However, in her heart, she was part of the Horde.  
  
Because of her love for his father, she gave up her chance to return to her people and chose to follow him. That was certainly one of the noblest choices a woman would make.  
  
Yet what Ardomael could not understand was why.  
  
Despite his father's efforts to shape him into the strongest Orc warrior, he felt that he was more drawn to the Night Elven side in him. He did not want to become a Warchief. Instead, he wanted to be a gardener.  
  
Since he was a little boy, he watched as his mother grew herbs and flowers in their backyard. None of the other women in the village did so--Orc women only gardened for food. They knew very little about the beauty of nature. But his mother could perform a lot of miracles. Her garden was always colourful with blossoms. One could smell the faint but sweet scent of lavender and roses from miles away.  
  
His father was abhorred by the idea that he would wish to become a lowly gardener--he was the heir to the line of Durotan the great warrior. How could he throw away his honour and take on jobs that morons do?  
  
Well, to clarify that, he had nothing against his wife planting flowers in his yard. He appreciated it very much. Yet when his son wanted to do the same thing, he just could not accept it. Sons were supposed to join the army and defend their nation. They were not supposed to be crouching in some garden, ploughing soil and sowing seeds.  
  
So, in order not to upset his father too much, Ardomael gave up his childhood dream. He then focused on something more 'constructive' --he became interested in his own inborn ability to communicate with nature. He trained himself to become in one with the dark, and though he could not shadowmeld like his mother, he was practically invisible amid the trees at night.  
  
He wanted to become a stealthy hunter.  
  
But again, he was met with objection from his father. Thrall just did not understand why Ardomael refused to go on the path already laid ahead of him and instead made a fool out of himself by dreaming stupid dreams. And because of Thrall's insensitivity, Ardomael began to resent him.  
  
He made a vow to himself that he would never become like his father.  
  
~*~  
  
His footsteps were uneven, his vision blurry. He limped into a palm forest and sat down beneath the trees, hoping to catch some rest when he heard repetitive screaming and begging of a girl, coming from the darkness in the woods. His mind was still foggy, yet the sound annoyed him too much. He had to find out the origin and make it stop.  
  
A band of young Night Elven men ganged up against a girl. They stripped her, tied her hands, and took turns shaming her. She cried and begged for mercy, but the crooks would not let her go. Their actions angered Ardomael. Instinctively, he drew his blade and charged towards them.  
  
The crooks were unarmed--the hell would they arm themselves for raping a girl? Ardomael struck down one of the men, and the rest ran away, leaving the girl alone. Then, the half-Orc collapsed upon the floor, asleep.  
  
The girl though torn and frightened, managed to loosen the rope around her wrists. She limped to her rescuer to see where he was hurt. She could not find the slightest sign of a wound, but the strong alcohol smell on him was a dead giveaway. He was, really, drunk.  
  
She grabbed her clothes. They were very torn and did not serve much--it was better than running around naked, she supposed. There was not likely to be any help around, and she could not carry her unconscious rescuer. All she could do was to sit there and wait until he was sober.  
  
She was aware that his cloak concealed the lower half of his face--would that affect his breathing? She pushed it down and gasped. His teeth stuck out. He was an Orc! But his skin was a shade of indigo, and his long pointy Elven ears told her otherwise.  
  
Suddenly, she felt a rough grip around her already bruised wrist. Her rescuer sat upright and glared at her with angry eyes, "The hell do you think you're doing?"  
  
Fine. She did not expect consolation anyways after her brutal rape.  
  
He looked angry enough to smack her--and he had a blade too. He could kill her, and she would not even have a chance.  
  
"I was just trying to check if you're all right," She explained herself, wincing at the strength of his grip, "You fainted, and I was worried. But now I see...you are drunk."  
  
"I am not drunk!" He argued, glaring at her--and noticed that her garment had shifted, exposing her chest. He let go of her hand and asked her embarrassedly to put on some clothes.  
  
She grabbed the front of her clothes and blushed, "They tore my clothes. There doesn't seem to be anything else around."  
  
"So are you just gonna wait here until silk dresses rain from the sky?" He frowned, "Get a leaf or something." He got up from the floor, picked up his blade and attempted to leave. But his conscience retained him.  
  
"Oh, right," He removed his cloak and threw it at her, "Wear this."  
  
"Thank you," She picked up his cloak gratefully and wrapped it around her body. A gentleman with an attitude problem, she thought, but a gentleman none the less.  
  
He waited until she dressed, and asked, "Where do you live?"  
  
"I live in Ashenvale," She answered cautiously. Could he be trusted? He was drunk after all.  
  
"I'll take you home," He started, "Now walk."  
  
She showed him the way. He noticed that she left a trail of blood and fluid behind her as she walked, but he chose not to say a thing. The silence between them was awkward, and neither one was comfortable.  
  
"Um, my name is Tevelai," She broke the ice by introducing herself, "What about you?"  
  
"Ardomael," He answered coldly, wanting to silence her, "But that doesn't have anything to do with you."  
  
She did not seem to catch his huge hint, "Oh, you have an Elvish name."  
  
"Shut the hell up and walk," He was not going to go through the excruciating ritual of explaining himself. He always had to do that whenever he met anyone new back at home. That annoyed him very much.  
  
On a normal day she would have slapped him and ran away. Yet he offered to take her home, not talk to her. She chose to walk the rest of the way in silence. Very well, he did more than he had to.  
  
She pointed at a village at a distance, lit up by the soft moonlight. "That is where I live."  
  
He stopped. She realized that he was not going in with her.  
  
"I just...want to thank you for helping me," She said sincerely, "Do you live around? I could um..."  
  
"Forget it," He muttered, "Just don't let them get you again." He turned and walked away in the shadows.  
  
She stared after him--and then realized with a start that she still had his cloak on.  
  
Questions/comments, pls email Jen H. Concept at jenconcept@yahoo.ca or ardentsq@hotmail.com. 


	2. Princess

Mirror of Remorse By J. CA  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is the story of Aszune in the game--remember in one of the Orc Campaign, you were requested to find a treasure called the Heart of Aszune?! Nothing was ever said about Aszune. I'll try to fill in the blank with my imagination. (Well, if there's a Blizzard official novel about her, please tell me.) Ah-ha, be patient, my friends. Your questions will soon be answered.  
  
PRINCESS  
  
Young Aszune could never forget that woman soldier lying on the doorsteps of Aunt Pakiira's house. The woman was grievously injured, blood caked on her face and garments. Aszune just hid behind a large vase when Pakiira treated the woman's wounds.  
  
They exchanged a conversation in a foreign language--or some sort of code. Aszune did not catch a word of it, yet she knew that those words changed her life, determined her future course.  
  
Feeling that there was no point in eavesdropping on a conversation she could not understand, she retreated to her bedroom and started humming softly to her leaf-made dolls. Pakiira made them for her, and she adored them.  
  
A while later, Pakiira found Aszune in her room. The older woman thought she could never find a way to break the truth to the child without hurting her.  
  
"Aszune, listen."  
  
Aszune swallowed hard. Whenever her aunt adopted this solemn tone with her, she knew she was in deep trouble.  
  
Obediently, Aszune stood facing her aunt, her hands behind her back and bowed her head, "Aunt Pakiira, what is it?"  
  
"Pay attention," Pakiira ran a finger through Aszune's beautiful ebony hair, "It is no longer safe here for you. We must go....."  
  
Aszune was expecting some scolding, and her aunt's words totally shook her up, "Why do you say that? What is wrong?"  
  
Pakiira's brows knitted in a hesitant frown. She paused in thinking for the longest moment before she spoke, "Because...you are actually..."  
  
Those large innocent eyes looked at the elder lady, more out of curiosity than anxiety, "What?"  
  
With a sigh, Pakiira told her the truth, "You are the daughter of the Queen. She was held prisoner in her castle. You are her heir, and someone is after you. We have to go now." She placed her hands on the shivering shoulders of the child and tried to escort her away, yet Aszune stood there like a stone.  
  
"The Queen? My mother?" She mouthed, hardly believing what she heard. It had to be a joke.  
  
"Hurry, child," Pakiira urged, "Move."  
  
"The Queen is my mother?" Finally, Aszune choked out her accusation, "You...you told me she was gone. That's why you took me in. You...lied."  
  
Pakiira sighed and caressed the distressed child's face, "No. I just didn't tell you the whole truth. Please, Aszune. I didn't mean to. I never thought I'd live to see this day when we have to...You are in danger. We must leave."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Your Highness, you must trust me."  
  
Pakiira shoved her out of her room, down the stairs and out the house. She never quite figured out what happened to that soldier woman. They brought with them no possessions, only some bread, skins filled with water, and a sword. Pakiira was constantly looking over her shoulder, looking out for any enemies who attempted to approach them.  
  
But Aszune's heart was not in this. Pakiira's confession had thrown her into deep thoughts. If her mother was not 'gone' and was queen, she would be a princess. Being an orphan and an unwanted princess was different- -somehow.  
  
Why then, was she not living in the castle? Why was she living with Pakiira? Who was Pakiira? Was she really her aunt, or was she a trusted subject of the Queen?  
  
"Come, your Highness," Noticing that the princess lagged behind, Pakiira halted and beckoned, "I understand you are tired, but we must not delay."  
  
They raced into a dark forest. The forest was a perfect site for ambush--yet she knew a shortcut they could use to reach the free border towns in two days. It would be better if they could get there, they would be free from the claws of those who wanted Aszune dead.  
  
Not concentrating on the path she walked, Aszune tripped over a tree root. Pakiira helped the child up. But unexpectedly, a shower of arrows flew at the two of them in the dark. She threw herself over the child and shielded her. Aszune could hear rapid footsteps coming from the darkness of the forest.  
  
Sword unsheathed and body pierced by many arrows, Pakiira took on the attacks. "Run," She exclaimed to a frightened Aszune, "Run--"  
  
Her cry was cut short when a sword beheaded her, claiming her life. Aszune watched in shock, her feet stapled to the ground. She could not outrun the attackers, nor could she fight.  
  
The leader of the attacks approached her, smiling in menace. He was a tall man, and he towered over her when he spoke, "Hello, little cutie."  
  
Questions/comments, pls email Jen H. Concept at jenconcept@yahoo.ca or ardentsq@hotmail.com.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
  
I'm still in...I'm not dead yet. I was just unwell for the last couple days, that's why it took me sssoooo long to update. But your reviews made my day! Thanks a lot, guys and galz. You ROCK!  
  
How do you like reading about Aszune?! Tell me about your thoughts.  
  
**Oh BTW, I've taken down my other story Poison Uncured. I think I need more planning. In the mean time I'll just concentrate on Mirror of Remorse.**  
  
Ira Poon: Thanks thanks thanks thanks thanks!! You're my first reviewer. Yeah, the son of Thrall certainly has a personality.  
  
Wonder: I'm sorry. You'd just have to bear with Ardomael for a while. But later on, I promise you there'll be other *sweeter* characters to balance out.  
  
Talenur: Hey, thanks for reading! You're right...heehee. 


	3. Victim

Mirror of Remorse By J. CA  
  
VICTIM  
  
The pain was terrible.  
  
It was not the first time Tevelai had been molested, yet each time the hurt was fresh and almost unbearable. She could not believe she had just submitted herself to the crooks' lust for another time--well perhaps she did not completely submit, but she let it happen anyway.  
  
She could have killed herself last time, and then they would not have another chance of getting her. Yet she knew it was not possible for her to do so. She still had a loving family.  
  
They wanted to help her. They were, of course, not unsympathetic, but they did not know what to say to make her feel better. They just told her to be careful, hide, run away or fight back if ever again, Elune forbid, the crooks should strike. Yet how could they know what it was to be disarmed by terror and pain? Even if she did fight back, she doubted that it would do anything but to prolong her suffering.  
  
This time, even though she was hurt, she had a last reason to live. She wanted to find her mysterious rescuer and return his cloak before she tried to kill herself again.  
  
Or perhaps she subconsciously did not want to die yet?  
  
But why would she? Her life was, crap, if no other word could express it better.  
  
Her father died in the Third War when she was just turning into a woman. Her mother never quite came out of her shock and grief. The responsibility of the whole family was left to her eldest brother Oaltil-- altogether six siblings.  
  
Somehow Tevelai was the only one who was constantly in trouble, even though it was seldom her fault.  
  
She tried to enrol in the army as her elder siblings all did, but she was not qualified because she was physically too weak. She learned how to read but was not terribly good at it. Tried drowning herself in a lagoon before, but Oaltil rescued her and ironically she ended up learning how to swim. Nothing was right for her.  
  
Some fate it was that she stumbled across the crooks' camping site in a forest glade. It was midday and she could not shadowmeld. She hid behind a tree and hoped that no one would see her. Most of them were sleeping, but two were standing guard. They spotted her.  
  
They moved towards her, "Hey, back for more fun?" One of the guards asked.  
  
Damn, why were her feet stapled to the ground? She could not move, could not run. Certainly it was not possible to punch them in the face.  
  
Her body was crap. She was just about to dispose of it anyway. But she needed to be alive to return Ardomael's cloak. Finally, she managed to make herself step back, turn around, and run.  
  
Tears flowed down her cheeks as she realized that it was going to happen again. The two men caught her by the hair and knocked her to the ground. She landed on her back and desperately trying to protect Ardomael's cloak from the fate of being torn.  
  
Out in a distance, a faint and sad melody of a flute was heard. It was soft yet it penetrated her heart. It returned to her the strength to fight. She would not go down so easily. Not for this once.  
  
The crooks warned each other, "It's the Flute Witch again! Run!" They ran for cover.  
  
Tevelai got up from the ground, still clutching tight to the cloak in her hands. Their hasty retreat surprised her, and even more so when they covered their ears and dropped to the floor, paralyzed as if they were in pain. To her, the music was soothing and intoxicating and represented no harm. But she did not know that to them, it was high-pitched and tormenting.  
  
Whoever this Witch was, or why they were so frightened of her, Tevelai was grateful.  
  
The flutist approached. Like her melody, she was soft and elegant. She was tall, lilac-haired, and her skin was a light shade of pink--a High Elf? She looked Elvish indeed, yet neither a Night Elf nor a High-borne. She was beautiful, and even deity-like.  
  
She put down her wooden flute. "Are you all right?" She asked, her voice too, was pure and fascinating.  
  
"Don't worry," Tevelai sighed, "I can live it." She did not want to explain that it always happened to her.  
  
The mysterious elf asked her to sit. Putting her flute to her lips again, she said, "You don't have to face it on your own."  
  
She started playing.  
  
"No, please." The crooks rolled on the ground, "Please stop..."  
  
She did not stop.  
  
Tevelai listened. The melody told the pain that the flutist herself had been through, and the comfort that she found in music. She had no idea what kind of power this strange elf possessed to be able to use her flute for both healing and punishment.  
  
When the Flutist was done, she indeed felt much better. But the crooks were on the ground, not conscious, but peacefully asleep.  
  
The Flute Witch held Tevelai's hand, "I am named Naamiel. Would you tell me your name?"  
  
"It's Tevelai," She said, admiring the Flute Witch's name. It meant 'bright light' in Elvish, and this Naamiel did come into her dark world in the nick of time like a bright light.  
  
"That's a beautiful name," Naamiel smiled. Tevelai thought she was just being polite. 'Tevelai' meant 'little one', and she was, indeed, a little one, unimportant, incapable.  
  
Referring to the two unconscious crooks, the Flute Witch said, "Listen, Tevelai. You will not need to fear them. When they wake up from their slumber, they will become righteous men."  
  
Tevelai was not sure she totally believed that, but there was no point in doubting.  
  
"How could you just floor those guys without even laying a finger on them?" Came a third voice.  
  
Tevelai and Naamiel turned and saw Ardomael, standing there with his sheathed blade swung over his shoulder. On the second day of his runaway he realized the worst part was not having anything to do. Of course he could go hunting for his breakfast or 'explore' the forest. Other than that, there was nothing else. He heard Naamiel play, and he was drawn to the music, "Is that some kind of magic?"  
  
Naamiel shook her head, "No, it is not magic. This is what all elves are gifted to do."  
  
"Can you teach me?" Ardomael seemed interested in her flute.  
  
"Of course," was the gently reply. There was no disgust in Naamiel's voice, even though he was not completely elf-looking. He felt close to her, somehow. Perhaps she was a mixed as well?  
  
Tevelai interrupted the conversation by returning the cloak to him and thanking him again for his help. He snatched it from her without saying anything. She guessed that was his way of doing things.  
  
Naamiel put in, "Say thank you to Tevelai."  
  
"Thank you," Ardomael grumbled, "You sure sound like my mother."  
  
"I assume that wouldn't be a bad thing," Naamiel remarked.  
  
"If I tell you she's one big hideous Orc with a hoarse, terrible voice?"  
  
"Obviously she's not, from the way you are telling me this."  
  
"Right," Ardomael shrugged, "It's my father that's the Orc. My mother is a Night Elf." He stopped right there. Rituals, he figured, all his life, he was just trying to explain himself.  
  
But Naamiel did not ask him to explain. Her eyes held so much wisdom, and he would not be surprised if she already knew everything there was to know about him.  
  
"Come with me," She said to him, "We will take Tevelai home, and then I can teach you how to play the flute."  
  
Tevelai did not want to go. Not when she had just found a lifeline. She did not want to go back home to the void and let darkness take over her again. She would plead or beg, "Please, don't send me home."  
  
Naamiel's silvery eyes fell on Tevelai's face with comprehension. She nodded, "Then, you can come with us."  
  
Questions/comments, pls email Jen H. Concept at jenconcept@yahoo.ca or ardentsq@hotmail.com.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
  
Took me long enough to update. I apologize for the delay. My browser was down (and so was the server of FF.net, I heard). Kill IE! Kill IE! I downloaded Netscape, and cool, it works again. Then, I suffered a minor writer's block and truckloads of laziness, so pardon me.  
  
This chapter is kind of gloomy. Just my mood & papers & everything. It's sorta starting to sound non-Warcraft...I'll steer it back somehow. And yeah, Blizzard said sorry for not hiring me (I wish!) because my invention the Flute Witch is too cool (I wish!).  
  
Uh-hum. Thanks, Tyraa Rane and Ira Poon for your almost instant reviews for chapter 2. Patience, my friends. Why I put Aszune in the story will soon be revealed...I, er, hope I get there and still make sense. Tyraa Rane, thank you for your concern. I'm better now. 


	4. Avenger

Mirror of Remorse By J. CA  
  
AVENGER  
  
Queen Etroma of the Kaldorei was the first to propose the idea of class. She was queen before the time of Azshara--in fact, pushed over by Azshara.  
  
Many tried to compare Azshara's bloody reign with Etroma's tyranny, but most agreed that Etroma's was far worse. She trusted no one except for a band of seven warlords and ladies whom she appointed as guards to protect her from harm. She had no family--even the man whom she had a child with was only a means to produce an heir. It was rumoured that she killed the man when she conceived.  
  
Etroma gave her seven guards power--power to land, power to military, and power to execute anyone who opposed them. Each was given adorned castles and the best of everything to distinguish themselves from the commoners.  
  
One could never have enough power. Soon, she felt threatened and insecure. While her seven warlords and ladies kept on killing whoever they wanted to, she intended to kill all of them, save one.  
  
When she gave birth to a daughter, she was worried that someone might bring harm upon the little girl. She almost immediately gave her daughter to Lady Pakiira, her most trusted guard who had no big ambition but to serve her queen, and ordered her to leave the area of the royal city. She thought no one would ever find out that she had a daughter, but she was wrong.  
  
Somehow, one of her warlords named Ferdyei imprisoned her in her own castle and ordered a gang of thieves to capture of the Princess Aszune. For eleven years already, the queen was under his control. The tyranny stopped and transform.  
  
^*^  
  
And this day, Aszune was going to see that very man who changed her life for the first time. Riding on the back of a Nightsaber Panther, she and the thieves rode through the woods from the south to the eastern part of the Moon Glade where Ferdyei lived.  
  
Aszune lingered behind Dakima, the leader of the thieves, and complained, "Dakima, I'm tired."  
  
"Just half a day more, dear Aszune," He replied with a smirk. She still hated him. It was him who beheaded Pakiira--even though Aszune was angry at her for not telling her the whole truth, she still loved her aunt and guardian. It was by his hands that she was torn away from her home that she was accustomed to.  
  
But she made it all right for seventeen years with the thieves. She was not treated badly, though she missed having a motherly figure. Now, she was no longer a child, but a fair young woman--still much too young as an Elf.  
  
Beads of sweat ran down her soft pink skin. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her panther also grumbled something under its breath. The weather was hot and humid, and they were tired.  
  
"Why don't we just stop over there at the river for a drink?" Aszune asked, pointing at the water running down from high relief.  
  
Dakima gave in. He asked Aszune to stop while he and a few of his men went to inspect the area. It was quiet--almost too quiet, except for the music of eddies running downstream. Water disappeared at the edge of a river in a canyon below. Grass and trees grew in the lush basin. He could see no danger, so he signalled his men to proceed.  
  
Aszune took a drink from the river. The water was cool and nice. Tilting her head, she looked back at the leader who was standing ten paces behind her, still scanning the area like a suspicious hound.  
  
"Dakima, really," Aszune interrupted, "Nobody knows who I am. They won't find us."  
  
"Always be on your guard," Dakima replied, teasing her a bit, "And make sure you don't go about telling other people you are princess."  
  
Aszune flushed. She remembered the time when she was cornered by Dakima and his men. She stood with her hands on her hips and declared, 'You cannot hurt me. I am the princess', and ended up trapped in a sack. She was lucky Dakima and Ferdyei wanted her alive, or else she might have been killed already.  
  
They heard a flute in a distance. Faint, sad music, and they were all drawn to it. Aszune yawned. She tried to suppress drowsiness, but she could not. She struggled to stay awake to listen to more of that intoxicating music, but it stopped suddenly--or was it that she fell sleep?  
  
"Aszune..."  
  
"Aszune..."  
  
"The warning...has been given..."  
  
When she opened her eyes again, she gasped in horror. The thieves around her were all lying on the floor. She examined them. Each had a deep gash across their chests, caused by a sharp object. Why? How? Why was she still alive?  
  
She turned over one of the bloodied figures--Dakima! He moaned in pain. At least he was still alive but there was, also, a deep wound in position of his heart. His head flopped lifelessly to a side.  
  
What happened?  
  
"Please wake up!" She sobbed, "Please don't leave me behind..."  
  
She was alone.  
  
A figure approached. She turned her head to find a man behind a wooden mask. She could hear her own voice trembling, "Who are you?"  
  
He did not answer.  
  
"Wha-?" Her question was cut short when he revealed a flute--was he the flutist? No. Behind him, there sprawled the body of a woman all clad in black, her long blue hair flowing on the ground--a total stranger. Her expression was peaceful, but her death was quite gruesome. Two ugly slashes on her stomach, and one stab through her heart.  
  
She was the true flutist, but she was killed.  
  
In the other hand, the man projected a bloody blade. Aszune backed down in horror and almost tripped over one of the bodies of the thieves. Her steed was gone, and there was no other way to escape but to run. Ran and ran blindly deep into the woods, towards the sun that was rising. She had to get away.  
  
She seemed to have lost the man, but she worried about Dakima and the flutist. Her heart wanted to go back, but she knew she must not. She could not save them both and herself. She must go on.  
  
Who was that man? How could he have killed them all? Was there a fight, or were they all hypnotized like Aszune herself?  
  
A shadow right in front of her. Someone had to be up front. She almost screamed when she figured out that it was the masked man. He was coming for her with his blade and flute in hand. She needed to find a weapon and fast, but all she could see were twigs lying scattered on the floor. There was not even a baton she could use to fend for herself.  
  
'Mirror...'  
  
A voice whispered in her head, neither male nor female. Mirror? Why? She looked around but saw nobody she could ask. The man was closing in on her. She needed to escape.  
  
She ran back in the direction from where she came and almost slipped when she stepped into a puddle of water accidentally--it could have rained earlier in this part of the forest, or it could just be fate. She stood between the puddle and the masked man who approached her with malice. What was a puddle of water good for now?  
  
But she noticed in the water that the sun was moving towards the west. Soon, it would move over the puddle.  
  
She noticed that she was standing in the light whereas the man stood in the shadows--did it matter? She attempted to move away, but the man would not let her go. They circled around the puddle once. Nothing happened.  
  
She ran.  
  
Then, she heard a cry of pain. Sunlight reflected on the surface of the water onto the masked man as steam escaped from his body. He dropped his blade and flute and melted into ashes.  
  
Unable to believe what she saw, Aszune stood there in hesitation for a few seconds. Then, she picked up the blade and the flute and attempted to find her way back to Dakima and the others in hopes to find someone who was still alive.  
  
But when she got there, the woman in black vanished, together with Dakima. The thieves were still lying on the floor, dead as can be.  
  
^*^  
  
Ferdyei narrowed his eyes on Etroma who kept on staring out the window of her high castle, refusing to look at him.  
  
"Ah ha," He said, grabbing her chin and forced her to gaze into his eyes, "Your daughter is strong, Etroma the Tyrant. She had gotten away this time."  
  
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Etroma snapped angrily, breaking away from his grip. She would have slapped him if it was not for that she could not escape from his control for the past seventeen years.  
  
He had made himself clear that he would make her pay for the bloodshed that she had caused by taking away her only daughter and heir. "For every one of the guards you killed," He had told her before, "A mirror image of his dark sprit will arise and take revenge upon your daughter. They will find her and crush her, and they cannot be destroyed."  
  
Etroma played indifferent--she even denied the fact that she had a daughter. But Ferdyei was not fooled. He knew exactly where he held her daughter captive, and soon, he would get to the princess.  
  
Questions/comments, pls email Jen H. Concept at jenconcept@yahoo.ca or ardentsq@hotmail.com.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
  
Oh oh things are starting to come back into my very mushed-up mind. If you look at the x-ray of my brain, you can almost see it drying up. Blame it on the papers and stuff, but it's all starting to kick in after I read a few really good books. Sorry for that awful third chapter. It doesn't say a thing. I just had to find a way to make all my core characters meet up.  
  
Dope, me! Forgot to mention that my story will go Ardomael/ Aszune/ Ardomael/ Aszune. According to the numbers 1,2 ,3,.in the chapter boxes on your top and bottom right hand corners, odds are for Aszune, evens are for Ardomael. So you get it. I'm trying to tell two stories that happened at different times and connect them. See if this works?!  
  
Last thing, I apologize to J.R.R Tolkein for "borrowing" (and not returning) his idea of the Ringwraiths--read Lord of the Rings if you have not, and you'll understand what I'm talking about. 


	5. Crooks

Mirror of Remorse By J. CA  
  
Author's Note: OK, before we start, let me thank Ira first of all for his suggestion. I'll stop doing the Ardomael/Aszune alternating chapters. I'll probably collaborate all Ardomael chapters and then go for Aszune chapters. I'll let you know later. Here we go:  
  
I touched the water  
  
It rippled and waved  
  
I saw a vision  
  
Of things that could not be  
  
ARDOMAEL: CROOKS  
  
Jadece sat inside the house. Even through the door and the walls, her sharp elven ears could hear the low voice of her husband outside. Her son was gone, and he left no note. Ardomael was a well-trained warrior, but she and Thrall still worried for him. Many unforeseen things could happen.  
  
She was afraid that she was the reason harm came to her child.  
  
Eighteen years after her marriage, certain conservative individuals within the Orc territory of Durotar still did not accept her as part of the Horde. They talked behind her back and accused her of nasty things, but that was all they did. They dared not do anything to the Warchief's wife.  
  
Jadece knew it would be hard to be the only Night Elf in the village, yet she did her part, be a good wife and a friendly neighbour. Many Orc women began to like her as soon as they got to know her better. Many others loved her simply because she was the woman their Warchief chose.  
  
"My apologies, Warchief," Said one of the scouts to Thrall outside the house, "We have scouted the territory, but we could find no trace of Master Ardomael."  
  
Thrall was silent for a moment. Jadece could pick up his sigh.  
  
When the Warchief did not speak, the scout asked, "Should we search again?"  
  
"Ardomael has legs," Thrall muttered, "Either he's in the Night Elven territory, or in the Desolace. It's gonna be a long search."  
  
"We could send a message to the Night Elves..." The scout caught himself. This was only the personal problem of the Warchief, and he might not want to wave it around.  
  
Thrall apparently did not want to make his decision yet. He just asked the man to keep on looking, and he went back into the house.  
  
"You don't think he was kidnapped?" Jadece asked him softly.  
  
Thrall shook his head, "No, I think he ran away."  
  
Jadece looked away in sadness, "If it's because he's unhappy about the way the Orcs are looking at him, it's..."  
  
"Stop talking like that," Thrall snapped. It sounded almost as harsh as a command. His wife shut up immediately, and he could tell that she was angry at him. He muttered an apology, "I'm sorry."  
  
"No worries," The tension eased as a shadow of a smile appeared on her lips. Sometimes he was edgy, but he was so easy to forgive.  
  
"Maybe we should go out and look for him," Thrall suggested, and Jadece was ready to agree. He ordered a carriage ready, and he helped her in there--she had lost her legs in a great battle nineteen years ago and could not walk. He joined his scouts in the search.  
  
^*^  
  
Leo'karpo sharpened his long knives by a bonfire. While he and the crooks he led were having 'fun' with that girl the night before, one of his brothers was killed by the anonymous wanderer who spoiled it all. Then, the Flute Witch appeared the next day and took down two of his men. The crooks were down to six--darn it! It's all because of that girl--Tevelai? Whatever her name was, no matter. Leo'karpo will find her and *teach* her something once he was done with that wanderer.  
  
He was no match for the Flute Witch, but he did not think the same for the wanderer. Whoever he was, he would go look for him and avenge his fallen brother.  
  
But the problem was where to find him. The Ashenvale forest was huge. It would take days to walk through, not to mention to track down someone who probably would not sit around and wait for someone to come and cut out his heart.  
  
Leo'karpo, of course, was not a man with a big ambition, or he would be trying to beat the Flute Witch. He picked on small people, the loners and the weak, and he had fun. He made a lot of people's lives miserable, especially the Elflings. He would make sure they grow up with their heads bent down, not ever seeing the sky. Tevelai was a good example.  
  
Through bullying other people, he could feel empowered. It could help ease his childhood pain a little...  
  
Sensing that he was lapsing into sentiments again, he thrust his hand into the fireplace. The flames licked at his skin and the pain restored manliness in him.  
  
He could smell it in the air--Orc flesh. Then came the noises of a rumbling wagon.  
  
"Let's have some fun, boys."  
  
Picking up his knives, he and his mates prepared to raid the trespassers.  
  
^*^  
  
Jadece stopped the carriage and scanned the forest area suspiciously. She had lived in the Orc village for so many years, had only little contact with her people, yet her Night Elven instincts were still sharp as ever. The words formed on her lips, "We're being watched."  
  
Thrall and his grunts clutched to their blades. If there was going to be an ambush, they were ready. Jadece sent her magical owl up to a tree and revealed six shadows amid the trees.  
  
"Shit!" That was out of the crook's expectation. With their positions given out, they had but one choice.  
  
"Attack now!" Leo'karpo bellowed, and his friends picked themselves up and darted forward.  
  
Thrall cast earthquake on the floor in front of the crooks. Three of them could not stop in time and ran into the trembling mass of land. The other three, Leo'karpo included, continued charging at the Orc Warchief and the grunts.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Jadece shouted at them in Elvish, which stunned them. It never occurred to them that a Night Elf should be running around with a band of four Orcs.  
  
"None of your business, woman!" Leo'karpo pushed her carriage over.  
  
"Jadece!" Thrall ran to her, but someone hit his head from behind, and he collapsed onto the floor.  
  
Seeing their Warchief and Lady floored, the grunts lost their morale. Leo'karpo and his boys managed to beat them and took the Orcs captive.  
  
^*^  
  
When Thrall woke finally, he found himself lying on the floor beside a bonfire. Through the fire, he could see two figures talking. One of them sounded distressed, "We're in dipshit man. If this guy is the Orc Warchief, we could have caused a war."  
  
"There's no turning back now, is there?" The other one, whom Thrall recognized as the leader, said, "We just have to keep on."  
  
Jadece! Where was she?  
  
Thrall tried to get up, but his limps were bound. Hell, the Warchief of the Orcish Horde held captive by a couple of lads who were still wet behind the ears? What a shame?  
  
But then he was sixty years old. Got to cut himself some slack.  
  
He had to find his wife and his men. He struggled to free himself, careful not to make too much noise but was still discovered anyway. Leo'karpo kicked him in the stomach.  
  
"That's no way to treat an old man, lad," Thrall retaliated verbally.  
  
"Get up," Leo'karpo dragged him up by the collar to a sitting position, "You listen to me, and I'll tell you about manners."  
  
"Where's my wife?" Thrall demanded, unthreatened.  
  
"Your wife? That lame bitch?" Leo'karpo mocked, "She's sure as hell a talker."  
  
"I want to see her," It was time to get realistic and use some of his warchief authority.  
  
"Go to hell," Leo'karpo punched him in the face, "You might find her there."  
  
Thrall pretended to be amused, "Oh, finally you got rid of that ol' bitch for me."  
  
The crook leader half expected him to get all hysterical and plead. *Strategy*, he guessed. He was facing an experienced leader and a warrior after all.  
  
"You know what?" Leo'karpo struggled not to lose his ground, "I can really go and kill her this second. You understand me?"  
  
So Jadece was still alive. After making sure of that, the rest was just an easy game of politics. Thrall smiled inwardly. Laddie here looked as if he was about to pee his pants.  
  
Questions/comments, pls email Jen H. Concept at jenconcept@yahoo.ca or ardentsq@hotmail.com. 


	6. Déjà vu

Mirror of Remorse  
  
By J. CA  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yo, guys and girls. I'm not dead, though only undeadified ^_^. I know it's a lifetime since I've last updated. Sorry about that, but here I am again.  
  
DÉJÀ VU  
  
The wind greeted Her under the first moonlight. It gently picked up the hem of Her gown and tickled Her neck with Her own hair, like a child craving for attention. She paused to speak with the spirits of the air.  
  
**Danger,** they cried.  
  
"Yes," She nodded. She could sense it in the woods amid the trees where the birds and crickets sang. Where Her children were.  
  
**We must do something,**the wind urged, already rushing towards the Ashenvale forest.  
  
But She shook her head, heartbroken. She had to remain behind. It was never in Her hands. Only Her children alone could perhaps fend off this ghost of old.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
{ARDOMAEL}  
  
Frustrated, Ardomael set the flute down. How could Naamiel make such delightful music when he could not even get the thing to sound? No, he was not going to give up. He was determined to play like her.  
  
A little further away at the bonfire, Naamiel was cooking something. Whatever it was, it smelled good. Somehow, she reminded him of his mother. The flutist was more graceful--probably because his mother could not walk.  
  
Meanwhile, Tevelai was sleeping under a tree. She was nocturnal and needed sleep during the day. That was a habit that Jadece had already lost. Since her marriage to Thrall, she started sleeping at night and working during the day. Ardomael, too, slept at night.  
  
"Keep on trying," came Naamiel's gentle encouragement. "Try not to exhale too much air."  
  
He sniffed. Nice aroma filled his nostrils. Beat, he said, "I can't play properly when my stomach is begging me to feed it."  
  
Naamiel chuckled and beckoned to him, "Then, eat something before you resume your practice."  
  
He did not have to be told twice. Sitting himself beside her, he helped himself to some potatoes and deer meat. The food was simply seasoned by herbs, but it tasted fabulous.  
  
After wolfing down a couple servings, he decided to find out more about the mysterious Flute Witch. He could tell that she was a person who knew the forest intimately. She knew exactly where to go to get the best food. Perhaps she, too, was a wanderer? That way he could really use some help from her.  
  
"What were you doing in this part of the forest?" he asked.  
  
"I live here," she told him with a smile. "Actually, I live everywhere."  
  
"Whoa, alone?" he was about to say that it was dangerous for a girl to live alone in the forest, but figured that would not be a problem to her. Nothing could harm her as long as she had her flute with her--or so it seemed. Besides that, she seemed to have a supreme aura that made her almost impossible to confront.  
  
She shook her head, "With my brothers and sisters, and the Lady."  
  
"The Lady?"  
  
She nodded, but said no more about it.  
  
Suddenly, she stood up and scanned the area. Alarmed by her alertness, Ardomael stood as well, but could not see nor hear anything of interest.  
  
"What is it?" he asked, puzzled by her sudden movement.  
  
"It has become so quiet," she whispered. "Even the birds and insects have gone silent."  
  
He listened. Indeed it was true.  
  
The wind rushed towards them, rustling through the tree leaves above them. Naamiel gasped. She could hear the warning that it brought. To Ardomael, she commanded, "Give me the flute. Wake Tevelai. Danger is near."  
  
He handed the instrument back to her immediately and shook the night elf. Naamiel walked a little further away from them to investigate the area with her flute gripped tightly in hands.  
  
Tevelai opened her eyes reluctantly," What...it's still bright..."  
  
"Wake up," he restrained the urge to yell. "We're in danger."  
  
**Danger.** That was a strangely familiar word to her. She sat upright, widely awake now, looking around cautiously to detect anything unusual.  
  
Ardomael realized he lost sight of the Flute Witch, "Naamiel?"  
  
No response.  
  
It was as if she disappeared. Both him and Tevelai held their breaths. Whatever happened to her?  
  
"Run towards the sun!" came an urgent warning. Naamiel ran back towards them. A masked man was on her tail, towering over her with a huge sword in hand.  
  
Ardomael drew his blade and attempted to aid her, yet she only urged him to get away. "Your weapon will not hurt a Shadowlord. Go!"  
  
"But I cannot leave you here!" he protested.  
  
"Go!" that sounded more like an order. "Protect Tevelai!"  
  
He did not have a choice. He ran and urged Tevelai to follow him, yet she was a lot slower than he was. He had to constantly look over his shoulders to check if she was still there. He worried for Naamiel, who must be battling against the masked man then. He could hear the flute in a distance, playing something like a march. He hoped the flutist would be all right.  
  
Tevelai tried her utmost to keep up with Ardomael's pace, but she was not athletic enough. She felt herself weakened as the two of them ran up a small hill. Exhaustion was taking over. She tripped over something and stumbled back down the wrong side of the hill, screaming as she slid. She banged her head twice against the floor as she was tumbling but fortunately could grab hold of something break the fall. A small shrub--would that do? It broke off and she started sliding again.  
  
A hand caught her by the wrist. Ardomael came back for her, though quite grumpily. He dragged her up from the ground, not too gently. But it was all right. She pretty much had the idea that this was the way he did things. No kind words of consolation. It was good enough that he cared.  
  
A shriek of terror!  
  
They both looked towards the direction from where it came. The masked man was charging towards them at full speed with sword drawn and blood splashed across his chest.  
  
The music had stopped. Where was Naamiel?  
  
The flute! Ardomael gasped in horror. It was in the other hand of the masked man. Had Naamiel fallen, trying to protect Tevelai and him? If what he feared was true, he would never forgive himself.  
  
He cast earthquake in front of himself. The masked man was not quick enough to stop, stepped into the seismic zone and was delayed on the tossing blocks of earth. The two youngsters continued running towards the sun.  
  
But the Shadowlord recovered quickly and was gaining time. He leapt forward.  
  
"Feral spirits, come to my aid!" Ardomael cried as wolves appeared from midair and charged towards the strange enemy to retain him while he and Tevelai kept on running.  
  
Yet it seemed impossible to outrun the masked man who was still coming after them with inhuman speed. He seemed to feel no pain when the wolves' jaws clamped down on his legs--not being of flesh and blood? He was closing in, and a fight became inevitable.  
  
Ardomael, despite what Naamiel told him, drew his blade again. He blocked when a blow came directly upon his head.  
  
"Run!" he told Tevelai.  
  
"No," she protested. What the? Did she think staying would help?  
  
"You'll be in the way. Run."  
  
He and the masked man engaged in battle. His enemy swung the sword at him in high speed, each blow precise and deadly. If he had not been well- trained by his...father, he would not have been able to save himself. No time to worry about that.  
  
He had no idea how long the battle between them lasted, yet he was wearing out. His enemy seemed to feel no exhaustion and attacked him recklessly as if he was a worst enemy.  
  
"By Elune!"  
  
A new voice.  
  
He could not afford to steal a glance, yet he knew who had come to his rescue. Tyrande Whisperwind of the Night Elves led her Sentinels to the battle. She shot the strange enemy with a searing arrow. The masked man started to retreat, as if he was afraid of her attack, and the warrior women pursued.  
  
In his hasty fleet he dropped Naamiel's flute. To everyone's shock, the flute melted away as it hit the ground.  
  
Tyrande recognized half-Orc at once and halted her white tiger, "Thank Elune we found you, Ardomael."  
  
Ardomael bowed formally at the Sentinel leader, "Thanks, Priestess Tyrande. You were just in time."  
  
"What has happened, boy?" she asked, sounding worried. "Who was that?"  
  
"I do not know. He suddenly appeared out of the blue," he shook his head. And he remembered. "Tevelai?"  
  
"One of my huntresses brought her back to our grove. Don't worry about her," the priestess told him. "Now, tell me what is going on? Thrall and Jadece said you disappeared. But now they have both vanished as well."  
  
"What?"  
  
Tyrande told him everything she heard from the orcs, about the remains of a battle found in the woods of Ashenvale--the wreckage of Lady Jadece's carriage, the corpses of the Warchief's bodyguards, and the couple's strange disappearance. They must have been taken captive. "If their disappearance had anything to do with the man who just attacked you, I do not know what to think."  
  
Ardomael winced. His parents...he could not help but feel guilty. He did not mean to walk out of their lives this way. It was a mere gesture of protest. And yet his parents were captured while trying to find him...he had not expected this.  
  
"Since the incident must have happened within our territory," Tyrande went on to say, "The Sentinels will help find them. Come with us, Ardomael. We will protect you."  
  
And Naamiel?  
  
"I still have a friend who..."  
  
Parents? Or a friend he just met? A tough choice.  
  
He continued, "May have been injured while fighting the masked man. We were separated. I do not wish to forsake her."  
  
"We will find her for you," the priestess promised him. "Tell us what she looks like."  
  
And he told her about Naamiel.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
  
Sorry guys. A writer's block almost made me stop writing this thingie. Thought I had it all figured out, but hey, shit happens. I've started another WC3 fic Rain River (ID 1293877) to keep myself going. And now I've got another idea. I can probably connect MOR back to RR...Just watch this!  
  
Ira Poon: Hey ^_^ Thanks for reading.  
  
Tyraa Rane: *Shocked* Grom died when he's 50??? I didn't know that. But he sort of suicide-attacked Mannaroth, so that doesn't count as life expectancy, does it...Aw, poor Hellscream...But somehow I got the feeling that Orcs live even longer than humans, but there isn't any *scientific proof*. @_@ Oh of course, me too, wonder how Thrall looks like when he's 60?! My depiction probably won't be as old as an aged 60 human, but eh, what da... ^v~ Thanks for the grammar thingie. 


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